A Mix of Both
by Qzil
Summary: Is is pain, is it pleasure, or is it just a mix of both? Depends on who you are, depends on what you want. Ikarishipping. Dark. Finally complete.
1. Mixing

1...I don't know. I may take this down, because honestly, this scares me a bit that this came from my mind. This is my first M-rated story. Although, I really don't think it has to be, just in case.

--

Pain.

Pleasure.

A mix of both.

Screaming. It's pain, but it's a pain she wants. His cruel smile makes her heart flutter, even when his eyes hold nothing but cruelty.

Another smack, pain ripples through her, making her shudder. Her cheek begins to throb, leaving behind an odd sensation of pleasure.

"Say my name," he orders, voice cold and cruel. She shakes her head.

Another smack, more pain, more pleasure. Another order, another head shake, another smack. She can taste the blood in her mouth, it makes her purr.

Hot and probing, hard and uncomfortable. Pain and pleasure at the same time, deeper inside of her. Savage, animal-like, just like his eyes. He slams her against the wall, she lets out a cry of pain as he continues to use her body.

"Say my name, Dawn." He growls, slipping out of her, but still holding her against the wall, she doesn't struggle, she doesn't move. She doesn't even dare to breathe.

The silence serves as her answer, another smacking sound echos throughout the room. She screams, the blood runs down her chin, drips onto the floor like a crimson raindrop. Still, she refuses to say his name, refuses to acknowledge the power he has over her.

She is his doll, his tool, his to command. The one thing he wants she won't give.

Returning the pleasure, gripping him with her mouth. Sticky, sweaty.

Pain as he uses her body again. Her pain that becomes his pleasure, a pain that becomes hers as well.

His cold eyes fix into hers, burning the look into her brain as she's thrown roughly on the bed. Refusal means punishment, something she much enjoys.

In the end she stumbles home, bruised, but satisfied. She winces as she showers, sore from the nights activities. She relives them in her head.

Relives the pain.

Relives the pleasure.

Relives the mix of both.


	2. Crazy

_Just roll with me, okay? I like my idea. ;)_

--

"Say my name."

The order comes again, just like on all the other nights. And just like all the other nights, she refuses, smiling as he strikes her. Purrs as he throws her on the bed, laughs as the metal springs creak under their weight and movement.

Her friends have called her crazy to want the pain he gives, saying he could go to jail. She laughs, and they look at her with wide eyes when she tells them she enjoys it. She laughs as they mutter. Perhaps she is crazy, but not how they think she is.

Pain.

Pleasure.

Hard, wet.

Biting, growling, savage, animal-like.

Again and again. It goes on and on.

"Say my name."

The order, although by now it sound more like a plea or a question. She longs to say his name, to breathe it from her lips as he controlled her. That's all he wants from her, everything else, the sex, the pain, it's just a bonus. All he wants is control, that is his one pleasure.

"Stop playing games with me and say it."

"No."

She speaks for the first time since their first session, refusing to give him the pleasure of total control.

"Say my name."

Not a plea this time, but an order. Another smack. Does he not realize that she enjoys it?

"Hit me again."

"Say my name."

"No."

Another smack, this time it's harder, and sends her sprawling on the bed. He pins her down, and she smiles at him, refusing to give him total control.

"Say my name."

She smiles at him. Frustrated, he punches her and walks out of the hotel room. She laughs.

Crazy for liking the pain? Possibly.

Crazy for being the one that's really in control? Oh, yes.

Or maybe it's a mix of both crazies. Just as it's a mix of pain and pleasure.


	3. Control

Uh. Yeah. I like it. I like short sentences. You deal with it. Thanks to all the reviewers. Read now, yes?

--

No questions, no demands.

No pain.

She stares at him, wondering just what she did. He won't touch her, won't speak to her.

He won't cause her pain.

She thought she was in control, that she had him where she wanted, that he belonged to her. She doesn't realize that he thought the same.

Control.

Both want it, but it hangs by a delicate thread, thinner then spidersilk, taller then the tallest tree, and stronger then any man or creature. It's a balance, some nights, it's hers, and some nights it belongs to him. Neither controls it completely, no matter what they think.

Should she surrender the nights she holds control? For now, the game has ended, both look at each other as if they're other people, not important to one another.

Yet, they are.

A couple? No. Lovers? No, not lovers, either.

Is there a word for what the two are...were?

Who will start the new game? Who will give control away?

Or will that strong spidersilk-thin thread break, until they no longer mean anything to one another?

She sneaks a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. A signal that used to ask if they would be meeting that night. He gives a slight nod, possibly out of habit, seeing as it's the sign for yes. He walks past her, and drops the name of a hotel onto her lap.

Control.

Is he giving it to her, or is he waiting to see if she will give it to him?

The second choice, more then likely.

It's all about control, but it's about the ability to balance it.

Each dangles it in front of the other, thinking that they're in control.

Perhaps neither is.

Or perhaps they both are.


	4. Dance

_(I'm sorry for the late update, but the power went out last night. Yeah, it wasn't fun. _

_Also, I...I kinda feel weird about this chapter. I had less inspiration lately, but I want to do at least one update every day or two. _

_Anyway. There are only two --go count 'em, two!-- other M-rated fics with ikarishipping in the summary. I feel so special. _

_Reviews appreciated, this is my first M-fic. Well, that I've posted, anyway. Heh..._

_Enjoy, sorry for the abnoxiously long note.)_

--

Pain.

She purrs happily as the blood fills her mouth, the salty sweetness all the better after so long. It's been weeks since they've done this. Weeks, but it feels like decades.

_Spidersilk. Spinning, wobbling, threatening to break. It's strength fading in the struggle. _

"Say my name."

He expects control to be surrendered to him, she expects it to be surrendered to her.

"No."

Refusal? How can that be? He thought that she would surrender control to him.

_Hanging. Swinging in circles. Around and around. Being dangled by both in front of the other, threatening to snap. _

He grabs her wrists and launches her onto the bed. The mattress squeaks as he pins her down, she doesn't struggle. Her blue hair fans out behind her, dropping over the edge of the wooden bedframe.

"Say it."

"Say mine first."

_Silence. The twirling stops, the thread is still. Control flows neutral. _

"No."

This time the refusal comes from him, he is certain that if he says her name, he will give up control. He kisses her, his teeth bruise her lips and cut her tongue.

_The thread shifts into his favor._

She smiles as the pain ebbs away, leaving an odd, throbbing, pleasure.

_It shifts to her favor. _

He pushes into her. Pounding, pounding, pounding.

_It belongs to him. _

Blood. She can smell it, she can feel it pooling between her legs. His moving is too hard. Blood. She's bleeding. She has her pain.

_It belongs to her. _

His grip on her wrist tightens, sure to leave a bruise. She can still taste the blood in her mouth. She is sure that the sheets are stained. Ah, well.

Are they lovers? No. Is there a word for what they are?

That question and answer. The same ones every time this happens.

How long can they hide what they're doing? How long can Dawn sport the bruises before one of her friends take action? How long can this "game," of theirs continue? This struggle?

The dance of pain and control ended. The very first dance ended when she refused to say his name, refused to give him full control and power.

Now a new dance has begun. A new struggle for control and power, weaving a web of pain and lies.


	5. Surrender

_(Well, ah, it's a little longer then the others. I'm sorry that they're so short, but...I guess that's the style. I like it, it's really easy to write. _

_There's one more chapter after this, so, uh, enjoy, I guess. _

_Qzil)_

--

"Dawn, we need to talk."

An order, although his voice is concerned for her. He must have seen the bruises, the awkward way she walks because she is sore. Looking at him, his pleading expression, she sits and talks.

He begs her to tell him what is wrong. He tells her that he cares, and that it hurts him to see her hurt. She sits and listens, nodding or shaking her head no once in a while. He says that she's too quiet lately, that she should see someone, get mental help. At this, she laughs.

"I'm fine, Ash. Don't worry about me."

That's the most she's spoken in a week. Aside from her night romps, that is.

That day, she has a contest. She loses, of course, just like all the other times. But, something's different. He's there. Could it be because there's a gym in this town, or did he come to watch her?

The gym, definitely the gym.

His face remains stony as they watch Ash battle. Brock is off chasing another girl, and Ash is too absorbed in the match to see anything else. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, he gives a slight nod. She sighs, it's her night to pick a hotel. Quietly, she lists all of Sunnyshore's hotels and motels in her mind. Grabbing a piece of paper out of her backpack, she scribbles down the name of a cheap motel near the beach and slides it over to him. He pockets it, and they sit in silence for the rest of the match.

Finally, Ash loses, and vows to return again. He's taking up training in the woods, he says, he won't be back for three days.

She smiles. Three whole days!

That night, she slips into the room, he is already sitting on the bed. She smiles, her heart flutters.

Happiness? Yes.

Love?

She cannot answer that.

They stare at each other for a second, then, slowly, he rises from the bed. She begins to tremble. In a flash, he slams her roughly into the wall, and the light fixture begins to shake from the vibrations.

"Say my name."

As always, the game, the dance, begins with the familiar order.

"No."

And, as always, she makes the first move by refusing to give him control.

_Swinging, balancing, hanging. _

"Say my name."

_Hers? His?_

"Hit me first."

_Who is in control? _

"Say my name, bitch."

This is the most they've ever talked in a meeting.

_Swinging, twirling, threatening to break._

Her heart pounds as she stares at his eyes, full of rage. Her belly seems to flip-flop. Without thinking, her mouth opens.

"Paul."

_The thread breaks, the dance ends, the game is over. Control has been surrendered. _


	6. Unbreakable

Okay. I had a whole other ending planned for this chapter. But it really took on a life of it's own. It's done in a slightly different style from the rest. I'm sorry for not updating. But...it was just so hard to write. I was tempted to mark it complete last chapter, but...

I like how this turned out...kinda. I mean, I'm not fully satisfied with it. Still, I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer.

This chapter is dedicated to Kurai I. Sage, for sticking with me from the beginning on my long and wonderful journey to complete this fic. Thanks!

Other then that, enjoy. Oh, and go watch the movie Felidae on youtube. Best. Fucking. Movie. Ever.

A Mix of Both (AMB, AMoB.) is Qzil's second completed fic. Her final words on it are:

"HOT FUCKING DAMN! IT'S TWO A.M. AND I'M STILL UP FINISHING THIS STUPID FUCKING NOTE! IT'S FINALLY FUCKING OVER AND I CAN SLEEP!"

Thank you and goodnight. Many happy trails to you shippers. This story has slightly swayed me to ikarishipping. So much, in fact, that I might even continue my contestshipping fic. ;)

--

She stares into the mirror, panting heavily from what she has just done. A bit of blood stains her cheek, her fresh cut still dribbling the crimson liquid. Glancing in the mirror, she sees the back of a certain black-haired boy.

After she had finally given into Paul, he had just stared at her, his face shocked. After a few moments, he had just walked out the door. No hitting, no pleading, no sex.

Nothing.

She hadn't even see him try to win his final badge from Volkner. Ah, well, she would see him at the Sinnoh League. Still, it was months away, and three months had already passed since their final session.

She had been growing desperate for a touch, for the feel of something inside her, for the blood in her mouth and on her fingers.

It had taken her three weeks, but she coaxed Ash into bed. Then she wondered why she had.

It was horrible.

Not the actual sex, no, that wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was all just...painless.

It was sweet and nice and slow. But he had refused to hit her, refused to hurt her in any way. It just wasn't the same without the hurt, the blood, and the pounding pain inside her. Even the cut on her cheek was when she had knocked her head on the door, and a piece of loose wood had sliced her.

That was the only pain she'd had in months, and she was sure that was all she would have for a while.

Ash liked her, and she felt bad hurting him. He had tried for her, but that wasn't enough. It just wasn't what she'd had with Paul. It just wasn't what she wanted.

"I'm sorry."

Not just for Ash. But for her.

And for _him._

--

She walked along the beach in Sunnyshore, trying to clear her head of thoughts. After the whole thing with Ash, she had left the Pokemon League and come to the city where they'd had their last encounter, trying to figure something out. Or, maybe, just to be alone. Sill, the ocean washing over her feet didn't give that much comfort.

"Dawn, what are you doing here?"

A masculine voice, with just the hint of a sneer in it. She knows that voice.

Paul's voice.

She smiles. How nice it was to hear that voice again. How nice it was to know that he was near her. She closes her eyes, absorbing the sound of his voice, memorizing the pattern of his footsteps. A hand touches her shoulder and she whirls around.

He dangles a key in front of her face. She smiles and slips her hand into his. Without a word he leads her to the motel room.

"I missed you."

A forgiving statement. One to make her want him.

It works.

He slams her into the wall as soon as he shuts the door. Pain ripples through her back, sharp and sweet.

Pain. Pleasure. Lips. Bruising. Pumping. Groans. Screams. Wails. Purrs. Slamming. Noise. Blood. Pleasure. Pain. Falling.

Ecstacy.

--

Dawn woke up the next morning in the hotel room, surprised to see that Paul was sitting right next to her in the bed. This was the first time she should remember them waking up together.

Being it was the first time, she had no idea what to do.

She mutters something, pulling the covers further over her chest.

"Dawn, I think we should travel together. Call your stupid boy-toy and tell him that.

And order. Not a suggestion, an order.

It makes her smile. She finally knows the answer.

Is it love?

...Yes.

Not the love that makes you want to protect the other from danger. Not the kind of love where you're tender with your partner. Not the kind of love where you bring the other home to see a parent or your family. Not the kind of love that can produce children or a family life.

But it's love, in it's own twisted way.

The feeling of needing each other. The feeling of missing someone when they're apart. The feeling of wanting to do things to that person that you can never do to anyone else. To want to push them down and bruise their lips. To want to devour their body with your own.

Love.

A twisted and broken form of love. A love where control can swing from both sides, where it can hang; the spidersilk thread can twirl and twist and knot. Never faltering, never stopping.

Unbreakable.


End file.
